Unseemly Ambition (42 page)

Flynn smiled. “T’will appear to be an
attack upon the Democratic candidate. We have arranged it so that
blame falls solely upon Mr. Sanders—if he survives. Isley can step
back in as the clean-cut, uncorrupted alternative.”

Concordia snorted. “But the
blast will
not
be
harmless. He’ll know you tricked him.”

Flynn shrugged. “I doubt it. He
believes what I tell him. I will express deep regret in being so
mistaken, of course. ’Twas a pity…perhaps Johnny put in more
explosive powder than he should? Barton’s too embroiled in this
business to pull out now.”

“
But why help Isley gain
office at all, and by such extreme means?”

Flynn hesitated, then sighed. “As you
say, you won’t be leaving to repeat it, so I’ll satisfy your
curiosity. Once a state senator, Isley would be in position to be
elected by the general assembly to the United States Senate. He
knows I have the connections to make it happen. That sort of access
would be invaluable.” He snorted in derision. “I have grander plans
than this little Nutmeg State of yours.”

“
I see.” Concordia edged to
her left, hands behind her back. There must be
something
she could use.

At last.
She felt an object, metallic and claw-like. A hand
rake. She curled her fingers around the wood handle, and subtly
shifted her stance for better leverage.

“
Well! As diverting as this
little tête-à-tête has been, I have important matters to tend to,”
Flynn said briskly. “Johnny will be here in a few hours. You may as
well make yourself...comfortable.”

Flynn edged backward, shining the
lantern in her eyes. Concordia inched forward blindly, fingers
tightening on the rake handle behind her back.

This time, they both heard
the rustling sound. As Flynn turned his head to look behind him,
Concordia swung the rake,
hard,
at the lamp in his hand. It crashed to the ground
and went out. Flynn gasped in pain as the weapon caught his
hand.

In the midst of the confusion and
darkness, another figure, quite tall and lean, leapt upon Flynn.
Concordia yelled for help and crawled past the two as they rolled
in the dirt.

“
Concordia!” a voice
shouted from across the yard. It was Charlotte Crandall, crouched
behind the well. She pointed to the road. Against the sunrise-pink
sky, Concordia saw three police vehicles, rattling at speed toward
the house.

“
It looks as if…the
cavalry…has come at last,” huffed a familiar deep voice behind
her.

Concordia whipped around. Her eyes
widened in surprise to see a panting, disheveled Randolph Maynard
dragging a barely-conscious Flynn by his collar.

“
How did
you
come to be here?” she
asked.

He grimaced. “It’s a long
story.”

In the brightening dawn, Maynard got
his first good look at Concordia. His mouth hung open.

Finally, he found his
voice. “Are you...are you wearing my
trousers
, Miss Wells?”

By the mass, ’tis
morning.

Othello
, II.iii

Week 14, Instructor
Calendar

May 1898

With the arrival of the police and a
short explanation from Maynard, who then hurried into his house on
an unknown errand, Flynn was promptly deposited in the prison
wagon.

Concordia was pleasantly
surprised to see Lieutenant Capshaw. In uniform,
and…
without a mustache
? He looked like a youth of twenty. She tried not to stare. “I
thought you’d been fired!” she exclaimed.

Capshaw grimaced as his gaze swept
over Concordia. She knew she was a sight: rolled trousers held up
by suspenders over a lumpy waist, shirt sleeves flopping over her
wrists, feet bare.

An older policeman stepped forward.
“No, miss. But it was a necessary subterfuge.”

“
Concordia,” Capshaw said,
“this is Police Chief Stiles.” The man bowed.

Concordia frowned. This was
the man who had succumbed to the Inner Circle’s wishes? Who had
fired Capshaw…but not really? Chief Stiles was now
helping
them? She gave
Capshaw a puzzled glance.

“
He’s been investigating
the Inner Circle for the past two weeks,” Capshaw said.

Concordia folded her arms and
glared.

The chief flushed. “I regret my part
in this matter, Miss Wells. I didn’t know. I should never have
allowed myself to be so influenced.” He glanced at Capshaw. “I’ve
been trying to undo the damage ever since.”

Capshaw nodded. “We’re making
progress. Hitchcock has been found.”

“
Where is he now?”
Concordia asked.

“
He’s cooling his heels in
the city jail,” Capshaw said. “We were questioning him when we got
word that something untoward was going on at Maynard’s country
house, and help was needed immediately.”

Concordia breathed a sigh of relief.
“So Hitchcock had no time to plant the bombs?”

Capshaw’s expression was grim as he
shook his head. “Unfortunately, we were too late for that. It’s
obvious he was making bombs at his hide-out, but the devices
themselves are gone. He must have passed them to a confederate. And
Hitchcock isn’t talking to us.”

Concordia remembered
Flynn’s mention of
someone local
who would be assisting Hitchcock. “Perhaps you can
get Flynn to tell you the location of the bombs.”

“
We have a man on it now,”
the police chief said, looking over at the prison van, otherwise
known as a “Black Maria,” where Flynn was locked up.

“
Are you taking him back to
the station?” Capshaw asked.

The police chief shook his head. “I
want him on the scene. Perhaps being a little too close to those
devices will get him to talk.”

Randolph Maynard approached the group.
He thrust a pair of slippers at Concordia. “Put these on. I’d
purchased them as a gift for my niece, but you are in more
immediate need of them.” He shook his head as he looked her over
once more. “I have no female clothing to provide,
unfortunately.”

Blushing, Concordia murmured her
thanks and slipped them on. They actually fit her quite well, and
were a welcome relief to her sore feet.

Maynard turned to Chief Stiles. “I
should return Miss Crandall to campus. And we have a horse to
retrieve along the way. Isley is part of this bomb conspiracy, and
he may be at the college. What should I do?”

“
I’ll send one of my men
with you to the school to take him into custody,” Chief Stiles
said. He waved over a muscular, broad-chested patrolman, whose
snug-fitting tunic jacket revealed a powerful torso and
arms.

Concordia spoke up. “And you’d better
arrest Mrs. Isley, while you’re at it.”

“
Miss Crandall told me
about the woman drugging your tea and keeping you confined.”
Maynard said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She seemed so
harmless.”

Lieutenant Capshaw guided Concordia to
one of the carriages. “We’d better get going, too. You can tell us
the rest along the way.” He turned to the chief. “What time does
the debate start?”

“
There’s a breakfast
beforehand, hosted by the Ladies Civic Committee,” the chief said.
He checked his watch. “That starts in an hour. The outdoor debate
takes place after that.”

“
Heavens,” Concordia said,
“it will take us at least that long to get there.”

Capshaw’s mouth tightened. “We’ll make
it.”

The drivers pushed the horses as fast
as they could go. Concordia, though grateful for their speed, had
the misfortune to be riding in one of the older vehicles. There was
at least one broken spring in the undercarriage, she was sure,
judging by how often a rut in the road sent her lurching against
the side, or into the laps of the carriage’s other occupants,
Capshaw and Sergeant Maloney.

After Concordia had given her full
account of the previous evening, Capshaw shook his head and gave
her one of his gloomy looks. “How you manage to survive these—” he
struggled for a suitable word “—incidents...is a perpetual wonder
to me, miss.”

He turned his attention to the
sergeant, who was looking everywhere but at Concordia’s
trousers.

“
You’ll be with me. The
chief and the rest of the men will be occupied with clearing the
area. We’ll search the restaurant first for the devices, then
outside, at City Hall Square. The restaurant seems most likely; it
would be easier to hide a device with all of the furniture in the
room, and avoid being seen.”

Maloney nodded. “Any idea what we’re
looking for? I never laid eyes on such a thing.”

“
They are timed-detonation
devices,” Capshaw explained. “Which means they could have been
placed hours ago.”

“
How big would they
be?”

“
We don’t know,” Capshaw
admitted, “and Hitchcock isn’t talking. An alarm clock would be
used as the timer, so that part might be roughly the size of my
hand. Then it would be connected with a brass wire to the fuse and
explosive. It could be as small as a cigar box, but it could look
like anything—a lamp, a box, a bench—made of wood, or perhaps
iron.”

“
How do we shut off
something like that?” Maloney asked.

“
That’s the tricky part,”
Capshaw said. “If they were in a hurry, the timer might be outside
the bomb’s outer casing. Then we can simply cut the wires. If they
were more deliberate, then everything—timer, wires, fuse, and the
explosive compound, which we believe to be nitrate—would be
inside
the casing. We’d
have to open it up first, just to get to the mechanism.”

Maloney swallowed.

“
And remember,” Capshaw
added, “according to Miss Wells—” he gestured in her direction
“—there are three devices.”

“
How do you know so much
about bombs, Lieutenant?” Concordia asked.

Capshaw gave Concordia an unreadable
look. “Miss Hamilton had a knowledgeable, though unsavory, contact
who gave me a recent education.”

Bless Miss Hamilton’s pragmatic
nature, Concordia thought. Even from a hospital bed.

Lay hold upon him: if he
do resist,

Subdue him at his
peril.

Othello
, I.ii

When the dean, Charlotte Crandall, and
policeman arrived at the gate of Hartford Women’s College, the men
hopped out. “Can you see to it the horses are taken care of?”
Maynard asked Charlotte. “We must get to Barton Isley at
once.”

“
Of course,” she said,
taking the reins.

Maynard checked his watch.
Seven-thirty. They’d made good time, even with checking the Isley
house along the way. According to the staff, Isley had arrived home
late and then left early this morning. Upon inquiring about Mrs.
Isley, the maid had simply said she was not home and refused to say
anything more.

Where was Isley now? Maynard passed a
weary hand through his hair. Lord, what a long night. What day was
it?

Friday. That meant Isley would be
poring over the end-of-week invoices in his office.

“
This way,” Maynard said to
the policeman, gesturing to the right. They hurried across the
quadrangle to Founder’s Hall.

Isley looked up in annoyance as
Maynard flung open his door without knocking. “Randolph, what the
devil?” He sucked in his breath sharply when he caught sight of the
policeman in the doorway.

The dean crossed the room
in two strides and grabbed Isley by the collar. “You miserable,
no-account snollygoster!
Drugging a
defenseless woman and holding her prisoner? Allowing that cur Flynn
to do your dirty work for you, just to further your own gutter-rat
ambitions?”

“
Sir!” the policeman
exclaimed, putting a hand on Maynard’s sleeve. “A little
restraint.”

The color had drained from Isley’s
face as Maynard loosened his grip and shoved him back into his
chair.

“
Where is your wife, the
poisoner?” Maynard sneered. “You both have much to answer for. She
wasn’t at your house, and the maid would not say another
word.”

Isley worked his lips together before
speaking. “I don’t know. She didn’t come home last
night.”

“
You don’t know where your
own wife is?” Maynard allowed his derision free reign.

“
We know the Inner Circle
has planted explosive devices at the debate,” the policeman
interjected. “Where will they be hidden?”

Isley put his head in his hands. “I
don’t know.”

“
Hitchcock has been
captured, but the bombs are gone,” Maynard said. “Who was going to
place them? One of the other Inner Circle men?”